


turnabout

by jessalae



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Control, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quentin Coldwater's Canonical Oral Fixation, they're both such brats and we love them so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: “Has it occurred to you yet,” Quentin says mildly, stripping out of his sweater, shoving down his jeans, “that I might not be planning to fuck you?”
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 20
Kudos: 122





	turnabout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akisazame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akisazame/gifts).



> HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY SYLPH! You gotta be careful what you say around me in discord, you never know what wild idea I'm going to grab onto and write for you as a present. <3
> 
> Thank you so much to stormcoming for betaing this!

“Is this _really_ necessary?” Eliot asks, theatrically petulant, rolling his eyes. He tries to bend one of his legs, stopped after an inch or so by the leather cuff attaching him to the corner of the bed.

“If you’re trying to do an impression of me, you gotta go a little higher-pitched,” Quentin says absently. He’s busy up at the bedside table, hair hanging loose over his face, messing with the chains on the wrist cuffs that he’s somehow managed to get tangled in the thirty seconds he’s had them in his hands.

“But you like my voice,” Eliot says, deliberately using his lower register. Quentin’s eyes flash over to him briefly before they return to the cuffs. “It turns you on.”

“Obviously. Ha!” Quentin holds up the untangled cuffs triumphantly, then grabs Eliot’s arm to buckle one on, looping the chain around the headboard and attaching the end to the sturdy metal ring on the cuff. A pleasant shiver runs over Eliot’s skin at the snug pressure of the leather around his wrist.

Eliot tests his range of motion as Quentin walks around to do the other cuff. “I think you’re going to need to readjust these,” he says. “As much as I love being all spread-eagled for you, I don’t think you’re going to be able to fuck me in this position.”

“Mm.” Quentin attaches the second cuff, looks at it thoughtfully, then shortens the chain.

“I can barely lift my hips,” Eliot points out. “Much less pull my legs back. The angle’s not going to be easy. Maybe if you were bigger, but—”

“Has it occurred to you yet,” Quentin says mildly, stripping out of his sweater, shoving down his jeans, “that I might not be planning to fuck you?”

Eliot’s brain screeches to a halt. “You’re not?” He almost winces at how desperately disappointed he sounds.

Quentin climbs onto the bed, straddling Eliot’s waist. His adorable cock is just starting to harden, and Eliot makes a pleased noise when it drags across his stomach. “Wouldn’t _you_ like to know.” Quentin smirks at him.

Eliot swallows hard. “If you’re trying to do an impression of me, you have to get beyond the grade-school comebacks.”

“I’m not trying to do an impression of you,” Quentin says. He runs his hot palms over Eliot’s body, up and down his chest, all the way up his arms to where the leather cuffs hug Eliot’s skin. “This is me. Just, dominant me.”

“Ah. Well, then, the grade-school comebacks are perfect,” Eliot says, and then stops when Quentin’s hand wraps gently over his throat.

Quentin raises his eyebrows. “Feel like walking that back any?”

“No,” Eliot rumbles, and Quentin squeezes just a little and Eliot can feel himself flushing.

“Suit yourself.” Quentin’s hand tightens a tiny bit more, then releases, and Quentin slides back along Eliot’s body, leaning down to trail his lips over Eliot’s sternum. “Just know it’s gonna cost you.”

Eliot hums happily as Quentin kisses his way down his stomach, nipping at the sensitive spots near Eliot’s hip bones. Quentin’s mouth gets closer and closer to Eliot’s hardening cock, nearly there, almost— and goes right past it, continuing down over Eliot’s thighs, his stubble scraping Eliot’s skin.

Eliot doesn’t worry, not yet. Quentin’s mouth will be back. He can guarantee it. Nothing this boy loves more than sucking dick, specifically Eliot’s dick. And, true to form, Quentin has barely reached Eliot’s knees before he’s working his way up again. He licks at the base of Eliot's cock, open-mouthed, holding Eliot’s eyes with his own. “Getting hard for me already, hm?” he asks, a line Eliot’s used a dozen times, and he’s pleased to discover that it _really_ seems to work well from this side of things as his dick twitches in Quentin’s grasp. Quentin wraps his lips around his tip, teases the sensitive slit with his tongue.

Soon Eliot’s fully hard, groaning, definitely ready for Quentin to start sucking him properly— and instead Quentin moves up to start kissing him again, deep and sloppy, licking into Eliot’s mouth. Eliot moans and rolls his hips, the chains clinking against the footboard as he shifts, Quentin’s body weighing him down, pressing him flat into the mattress. 

Despite the injustice of not having gotten a real blowjob yet, this is _good_ , Eliot decides: having Quentin stretched out hot and solid over him, the firm pressure of cuffs around his limbs holding him steady. He wouldn’t normally choose to be on this side of a power exchange — certainly not with a hookup, and before Quentin it had been a long time since anyone had moved beyond the hookup stage. But Quentin had been so eager, making puppy dog eyes at Eliot, holding out the cuffs they usually use on Quentin and saying _If you hate it, we’ll stop, obviously, but there’s something I really wanna try…_

Quentin shifts his body back a bit without breaking the kiss, and Eliot moans against his lips as Quentin’s ass grazes his hard cock. Quentin reaches back, and then Eliot’s dick is sliding along the length of Quentin’s crack, rubbing deliciously as Quentin rolls his hips.

Quentin’s kisses go off-center as he licks at the corner of Eliot’s mouth, then kisses his way across Eliot’s jaw. “You figured out what I’m planning yet?” he asks, hot against the flushed, sensitive skin of Eliot’s neck.

“I’m getting the sense it involves my dick and your ass,” Eliot says, pretty proud of how his voice only slightly shakes. The rhythmic slide of Quentin’s ass against his erection is really fucking good, and he can feel Quentin getting harder too, grinding against his stomach. His fingers itch with the need to grab that round, gorgeous ass, hold it in place so he can rut up against it. “Although I’m not entirely sure why you had to tie me up for that, since we do it all the time anyway.”

“We do,” Quentin agrees. “And it’s _very_ good.” He shudders, and Eliot can feel his dick jolt, pressed hot and stiff between their bodies. “A little too good, some might say.”

Eliot frowns, biting back real offense. “No such thing.”

Quentin sits up abruptly. Eliot looks hungrily down at his perfect fucking dick, then back up to his perfect fucking face, which wears a surprisingly stern expression. “Who’s in charge, here, you or me?”

Eliot’s breath hitches. “You,” he says.

“Right,” Quentin says, raising his eyebrows. “So if I fucking want your opinion on something, I’ll ask for it.” He lays himself back down to attack the other side of Eliot’s neck, his fingers tangling sharply in Eliot’s hair to pull his head to the side and get better access. “To be clear, I don’t want your opinion right now,” he adds a moment later.

“Getting that,” Eliot says, breathing hard from the sensation of Quentin’s exquisite mouth sucking red marks into his throat. “It’s too good? When I fuck you?”

“ _Way_ too good,” Quentin confirms. “You always have me coming on your dick in, like, two minutes.”

“I’m sorry, is that a _problem_?” Eliot laughs, then gasps when Quentin bites down on his shoulder. God, he wants to roll this boy over, pin him down, show him what happens to pretty boys who get their teeth in Eliot’s skin. Curse these cuffs.

“Problem’s a strong word,” Quentin says. “Minor annoyance, maybe.” He sits up again, and Eliot groans at not having the heat of his skin, the weight of his tight little frame. “A fact that occasionally makes me kinda chagrined. Or, like. Wistful?”

“I can make it last for you if you want,” Eliot says, aiming for a seductive purr, landing instead somewhere around a slightly desperate plea. “Get you close, bring you back down. I’d love to.”

“I know you _could_ ,” Quentin says. “But again, that relies on _your_ judgment about what I need, and, well.” He leans back so his ass is pointed towards Eliot, knees splayed. Eliot swallows hard. “Sometimes you just have to do things yourself, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eliot says absently, mouth watering. The cuffs stay firmly buckled around his wrists as he tugs on them. If his hands were free he could grab Quentin’s slim hips, pull him all the way forward, bury his face between those cheeks and lick at him until he’s boneless and begging— “Or. What?”

Quentin laughs, delighted, and traces the signs of the prep spell on his own stomach. He shivers with the effect of the magic, his beautiful hard cock swaying between his legs, and Eliot watches his hole flex and flutter and shine with conjured lube. “Sometimes you just have to do things yourself,” he repeats. “Like, say, ride your boyfriend for absolutely as long as you want to, without him getting ideas about making you come too quick.”

All the air in Eliot’s lungs whooshes out in one punched-out moan. Quentin’s eyes gleam. He tuts through a lube spell, his favorite one, filling his cupped palm with thick, slippery liquid.

“So. That’s the plan,” he says. “I’m going to ride you as much as I want, however I want, and you’re going to be good and let me use that huge dick, and you’re gonna tell me if you’re too close so I can stop and wait a minute, or decide to let you come.” He rolls two fingers through the lube, reaches down to circle them around his hole, press them inside. Eliot’s ears are ringing, his heartbeat sounds loud in his chest — Quentin slips his fingers inside himself so smoothly, into that tight wet heat, and Eliot could be there instead, his fingers or his tongue or his _cock_ , _fuck_ he’s so hard—

“Yeah,” he says again, barely any idea what he’s agreeing to.

Quentin seems to pick up on his complete lack of higher-order thinking. “Serious check-in,” he says, his fingers stilling. “Are you okay with that?”

“In what universe would I _possibly_ not be okay with that,” Eliot gasps. Quentin’s eyebrows draw together, his lips pout, and Eliot adds, “Sorry, you said serious check-in. _Yes_. I am okay with that. You have my enthusiastic consent to fuck yourself on my cock until _ohfuck_ —” Quentin’s twisted himself around and Eliot can feel lube trickling over the head of his cock, a hot slick palm wrapping around his length and smoothing the stuff all the way down, businesslike, just trying to get it coated, not to jerk Eliot off.

Quentin turns back to face Eliot, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “You’re so ready for me,” he says softly, his version of a purr. A shiver runs over Eliot’s whole body, from his chest outwards. His dick twitches in Quentin’s firm grasp. Quentin huffs out a little laugh and strokes it once like he means it, his thumb smoothing over the sensitive head. “Gonna work myself so good on this gorgeous dick—” and he lifts up on his knees, shifts his weight and lines up.

If Eliot were trying to put on a show for Quentin right now, he’d throw his head back, let his knees draw in the inch or two they can, cry out as Quentin sinks onto him. Turns out his shows are pretty accurate because even though he’s not trying, even though he doesn’t have anywhere near the coherence required to try, that’s exactly what happens. Quentin’s hole presses against his tip and then envelopes it in one exquisite moment. Quentin lets out a pleased grunt and pushes himself down, another inch, a few more. Eliot breathes hard, his chest heaving, as Quentin stretches open for him and takes him in—

—and stops, halfway down. Eliot looks up to see Quentin with a satisfied smile on his face. “You feel so _good_ ,” he murmurs, and rolls his hips, slides up again and down, no further than he was before.

“There’s more,” Eliot croaks.

“I’ll get there soon,” Quentin says calmly. He rocks up again, readjusts his legs and starts building towards a rhythm, and Eliot lets out a sound that’s— not a whine, certainly not, but really who could blame him for whining with Quentin’s perfect ass sliding hot-tight-incredible over him, knees gripping his sides, deliciously furry stomach and strong thighs working to hold the rest of his gorgeous body upright as he impales himself on Eliot’s dick. Quentin’s eyes flutter closed, he runs a hand through his hair like a fucking porn star, preening, his cock bobbing as he fucks himself. “God,” he breathes, “I can’t fucking get enough of this, El.”

“So take the rest of it already,” Eliot says, strangled, despite knowing exactly what’s going to happen when he does: Quentin smirking at him and lifting himself further up until Eliot is almost slipping out of him. “ _Fuck_ —” Eliot’s hands ball into fists, the silver chains straining as he pulls against them.

“You’re just not getting it,” Quentin says, staying up on his knees, bringing a hand around to stroke himself. His hole twitches around the sensitive head of Eliot’s cock. Eliot shoves his hips up as far as they’ll go — not far enough, he can’t get any leverage all stretched out like this, and Quentin moves with him to keep him from pushing further in. “Keep it up, I’ll get out my dildo and fuck myself on that instead of you.”

A shudder rolls through Eliot’s whole body, frustration and dismay and arousal all swirled together. “You would _not_.”

“I _absolutely_ would.” Quentin sinks lower, makes Eliot’s eyes roll back in his head, then moves up again. “Right in front of your face, so you can see how good it stretches me. I might suck your cock just a little, keep you hard for me so you’re ready when you decide you wanna be good. But only a little.”

“You are,” Eliot pants, “a monster. You are a fucking, sexual terrorist.”

“And _you_ are an impatient brat,” Quentin says gleefully. He fucks himself down, almost as far as he was before, bobs a couple times, gets into a rhythm and then _stops_ abruptly with Eliot’s cock not even halfway inside him. “This is why I had to tie you up— you just can’t handle yourself around me.” He leans forward and braces his hands on either side of Eliot’s head, ghosts his lips over Eliot’s cheek, moving away when Eliot turns to try and kiss him. “It’s kinda embarrassing, huh? Legendary playboy Eliot Waugh, only fucking one guy, so desperate to get inside him he’ll let himself get tied to the bed if it means he can give him that dick.”

Eliot’s entire body is overheating, his cock is fucking _throbbing_ , Quentin can probably _feel_ it move inside him in time with Eliot’s hammering pulse. “How do you come _up_ with this stuff,” he says weakly. “It’s absurd.”

Quentin snorts, tongues at his earlobe. “It’s definitely not,” he says, “but I’ll let you pretend I’m not absolutely right, _if_ —” He slides a hand up to where the cuff is wrapped around Eliot’s wrist. “—and _only_ if, you start behaving.”

“Fine,” Eliot chokes out. He wants to be buried all the way in Quentin, wants his arms wrapped tight around that compact little body and his feet planted on the bed so he can fuck up into him _hard_. He wants it badly enough that something in him feels like it’s coming detached, floating away — his desire to get under Quentin’s skin, his instinct to take control of the situation, direct how and when they get their pleasure. He lets out a deep sigh and relaxes his arms and his thighs and his neck where he’s been straining trying to get Quentin to kiss him. “I’ll behave.”

“Good boy,” Quentin says, and Eliot lets his eyes fall shut so he can just _feel_.

And what he _feels_ is: Quentin shifting his weight again, sinking down on his cock, squeezing around him and _finally_ sliding all the way down so Eliot’s fully sheathed inside him, deep in the velvety heat of him. Quentin’s palms bracing on his chest, angled so he can thumb across Eliot’s nipples when he wants to. The cuffs on his wrists and ankles snug and just _there_ in a wonderful way. Eliot moans, and tries to breathe evenly, and Quentin makes a pleased sound and starts to _really_ ride him.

That’s how it goes for some impossible amount of time, Quentin fucking himself deep on Eliot’s cock, making intoxicating noises. Occasionally he pauses to lean down and kiss Eliot thoroughly, whisper some half-thoughts about _love taking all of you_ and _laid out so pretty for me_. Eliot feels like he’s sinking into his bed, like it’s quicksand, like his body is being slowly swallowed whole. He only exists for this, so Quentin will have a nice dick to get himself off on, and — honestly, there’s a certain amount of pressure that relieves. No one has ever called Eliot Waugh a pillow princess, but when that’s exactly what your boyfriend is _asking_ you to be, well, who doesn’t like sitting back and letting someone else to do the hard work?

Eventually Quentin’s noises take on a deeper tone. Eliot opens his eyes, finds Quentin flushed and sweating, bottom lip red and swollen like he’s been biting it. He’s holding his own hard cock tight at the base, not moving his hand. A jolt of pleasure runs through Eliot at the sight of him, and the constant slick pressure of Quentin around his dick spikes into something urgent, a need that’s going to fulfill itself soon whether Eliot wants it to or not.

“Oh fuck,” Eliot gasps, his hips jerking up involuntarily. “God I’m close, Quentin—”

Quentin whines, frowning fiercely, and settles himself down until his ass hits Eliot’s thighs. Even when his hips stop moving, his body tightens and shivers around Eliot, inching him closer to the edge. “Me too, _fuck_. God. It’s so good, you feel so _fucking good_ in me, I just wanna— god, fuck—” He rocks forward and back, grinding down on Eliot’s cock, bursts into a breathless laugh. “I was going to draw this out longer but _fuck—_ fuck it, I have to, I can’t, I can’t wait—” He bounces back up onto his knees, takes Eliot in long smooth strokes again. His hand has started moving over his dick, jerking himself in short tight motions that Eliot recognizes as his usual style when he’s _almost there, almost, so close_.

It’s almost too late when Eliot remembers that, in theory, he was supposed to be asking Quentin for permission to come. “Can I _please_ ,” is as far as he gets before he has to bite hard on his lip to hold himself back, hoping Quentin will see the desperation in his face and understand. He’s pulling against his bonds in the opposite direction, now, shoving his hips downward into the bed to try and avoid the perfect squeeze of Quentin’s ass all around him. It’s not working very well: Quentin makes a pained noise and grinds down harder, his cheeks slapping against Eliot’s thighs as he works Eliot’s cock deep into his body.

“You can come,” Quentin says, “do it, come on.” 

Eliot throws his head back, heels scrabbling against the mattress, unable to get purchase, abs and thighs burning with effort. Quentin stretches down over him, slick wet sounds of Eliot’s cock in his ass and his own lubed-up hand a blur on his dick, and says, “Eliot, _now_ ,” and amazingly, that works. Eliot shouts and comes, toes curling, hands fisting into the sheets as much as they can, spilling hard into the velvet heat of Quentin’s body.

“Yeah, god,” Quentin moans, only able to maintain his triumphant grin for a second before a wave of pleasure wipes it off his face. He arches his back, hips jerking. His come splatters hot over Eliot’s chest and stomach, rim clenching hard around Eliot’s still-twitching cock, thighs shaking and hand working himself through the end.

“God,” Quentin breathes again, eyes closed. His hips finally come to a stop, Eliot’s cock still tucked deep inside him. “That was fucking _good_.”

Eliot just makes a soft, needy noise, straining against the bonds. He wants nothing more than to pull Quentin down against him, wrap him up and kiss him breathless as he slowly slides out of him. 

Quentin looks down at him, says, “Oh, hang on,” and eases off of Eliot’s dick, then moves like he’s going to stand up, get off the bed.

“No,” Eliot says desperately, “stay, get down here— please—”

A flurry of emotions sparkle through Quentin’s eyes. “Yeah, of course, I’m here,” he murmurs, and tips forward instead of sideways, folds himself down over Eliot’s torso and presses his face into the hollow of Eliot’s throat. “Hi. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eliot says, trying to regain some semblance of rational thought. Is this how Quentin feels when Eliot ties him up? No wonder he loves it; it’s like being _high_. “I just need contact. Skin to skin.”

“Well, you have that.” Quentin cups Eliot’s face in his hands, kisses him sweetly. “All my skin, all for you.” His face wrinkles into a frown. “That sounded better in my head.”

“Mm,” Eliot says, as Quentin figures out a way to reach up to Eliot’s wrists without moving their chests too far apart. He unhooks the chains, and Eliot groans a little as he rolls his shoulders, bringing his arms forward to pet over Quentin’s waist, squeeze his ass. Quentin sighs happily and drops his head to Eliot’s chest, boneless and warm.

After a few moments, when Eliot’s brain has more or less come back online, he asks, “Does it really annoy you? That I make you come too fast?”

“Mostly no,” Quentin says, his voice muffled by Eliot’s sternum. “Oof— hang on—” He rolls to the side, tucks himself into Eliot’s arms that way instead. “Maybe once in a while I’m like, couldn’t I have lasted longer? Should I be, like, embarrassed? That I didn’t?”

“Never,” Eliot says firmly. “Never be embarrassed about enjoying yourself in bed. But I will draw it out for you, if you’d like that.”

“I think so,” Quentin says. “Something to try. Did you like having to wait? Well, kind of having to wait, I pretty much just— I took you too far right away, and then I would’ve felt bad saying no, and I wanted to come, anyway. But the _idea_ of having to wait?”

“I liked the idea quite a bit,” Eliot said. “I liked—” He considers his words carefully, heart suddenly pounding. “I liked being a toy that you could get yourself off with.”

“Yeah?” Quentin raises his head, looks at Eliot with hungry eyes. “I’d do that again, if you want. I’d do any of it again. Not always, but when you feel like it.”

“Of course.” Eliot draws him in for a kiss, slow and sweet. “You’ll have to think of more ways to punish me for being a brat, though. If staying off my dick is the only tool at your disposal, I’m gonna get away with just about anything.”

“Mm, don’t worry,” Quentin says with a grin. “I’ll come up with something to keep you in line.”


End file.
